


These Cruel Stars

by xan_the



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Dan is a bard lol, Fate & Destiny, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ohh buckle up its fantasy/medieval pining and heartbreak, Phil is royalty, Royalty, Sorry bout this one its gonna hurt, is dan kind of inspired by jaskier, its gayer than you think, its kind of self indulgent but like, sometimes you need a little sadness, song lyrics in my fic ideas, youll never know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24132403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xan_the/pseuds/xan_the
Summary: Daniel, a weary traveler, running from a curse. Phil, noble prince who would have given everything to be with him. The two are driven together by the pull of fate and just as quickly torn apart by Daniel's cosmic debt. Now on the run, Daniel will do anything to repay the debt he owes and be back in his lover's arms again.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	These Cruel Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone thank you for reading! I haven't posted fic in so long, but this quarantine is got me back into this hyperfixation real bad. This initial chapter is a bit short, but I hope to make the next ones longer. I'm hoping to make this entire thing kind of long, but I haven't settled on length yet--we're gonna see where it takes me.

_"I am not the only traveler_

_Who has not repayed his debt_

_I've been searching for a trail to follow again_

_Take me back to the night we met."_

_\--Lord Huron_

It had been three weeks since Daniel had a decent job, two since he had a place to rest his head, and one since he had a proper meal. His pack was weighing heavy on his spine, creating a permanent hunch. His lute was strapped to his front, but other than that he hadn’t even dreamed of playing it. Normally, he would absentmindedly strum for inspiration while he travelled from one town to the next, but recently the thought of playing revolted him. He had lost track of all the miles he had travelled, the towns he had passed through without even registering them. They were all a blur of merchants and shops and people. He had been walking for so long that his feet were calloused and shoes were worn, but he didn’t want to stop, he _couldn’t_. It’s not like he knew where he was going; he only knew that he needed to be far away from where he was, and he hadn’t satisfied that urge yet. 

He judged he was about 70 miles out from the central kingdom of Yelra, headed west toward his hometown of Morehead. It wasn’t his intention originally, but after forgoing sleeping and eating for the past however long, he was becoming desperate for lodging and food that he didn’t have to beg for or steal. He knew he couldn’t stay, but he longed for something familiar, even if for a brief moment. 

As he approached the outskirts of town, he was flooded with the familiar sights and sounds from his youth: the cheery blacksmith who always entertained the throngs of children who gawked at her craft, the produce stand at the entrance of town who peddled the ripest berries in the kingdom during the summer months. Before he realized it, he was standing at the door to his mother's small home, smoke pouring out of the chimney and his mothers voice lilting out a cracked window. He set down his pack at his feet, feeling naked without the weight, hesitated for a moment, then knocked.

A small woman appeared at the door, face worn with age, hair greying relentlessly, and smock covered in flour. _Mother_. Though she had changed in the many years since he had seen her, she was still the same loving face that would sing him to sleep every night, even when he was too old for such things, still the woman who would tend to the scrapes and bruises he’d collect while playing, or fighting, she never seemed to ask. A large smile erupted on her face and before he could even stammer out a word, she gave him in a hug that, despite their enormous size difference, seemed to envelop his entire body. 

“Welcome home, love,” she said warmly, as if she had been expecting him, as if he hadn’t been gone for years, as if he had only left this morning to go about the day’s business. 

Daniel felt his heart drop and tears began to well in his eyes. He wasn’t hugging back, just allowing himself to be as limp as he could in his mother’s arms without entirely crushing her. In that moment, everything seemed as if it would be alright. And if he focused on the moment, the warmth of his mother’s petite frame, how she smelled of nutmeg and sweat just as she always had, he could convince himself things weren’t as much of a disaster as he knew they were. 

After a few moments he took a step back from his mother’s embrace. He looked in her eyes, crinkling with elation and age, and gave a slight smile. 

“Hello,” he said sheepishly, “it’s been a while…” he trailed off. 

“Come inside, love, dinner is almost ready. Have you been eating well? You look like you haven’t eaten in weeks! What do they even serve in Yelra? Nothing good if you ask me if you’re coming home looking like that. We eat real food here, none of that city fare. The crop hasn’t been great this season, but still we make do. You won’t see us skipping meals. Went to the butcher today to pick up some fresh meat and you will not believe what he told me!” Daniel smiled as his mum chattered on about nothing, as she tended to do, as if she was picking up from an earlier conversation that they didn’t have. He sat himself at the worn table and smiled slightly, allowing the familiar images of his home to wash over him. The cracking of the fire, his mother puttering about the kitchen in her erratic way, the occasional passing of a cart on the street. He had missed this. 

But he knew it was a permanence he could not have—he was still a visitor to this unexamined life. Everything about this place, in all its humble modesty, were now luxuries he could not afford. He noticed the extra place setting on the table, as if mother had been expecting him. He broke from his silent introspection to see his mother had stopped talking and was silently watching him with a concerned, loving look. 

“What happened, Daniel? You can tell me,” she asked, voice wavering. She was so poised; she always knew how to strike a balance between being direct and holding back.

Dan met her gaze. He wanted to tell her, to let his mouth open and let all of the events of the past months spill out. Everything that he kept inside him, that he let eat at him, everything that haunted him and prevented him from sleeping and, gods, playing music. He wanted to give it up, to let his mother take his weariness and bear it for a while. He knew she would without hesitation. But he couldn’t. It was his burden, and it was one he had to carry alone.

Instead all he could say was, “how did you know I was coming?” 

His mother let an expression of annoyance briefly pass over her face, but it was soon replaced with the same tender patience as earlier. She knew he was avoiding the question, as he always tended to do. Of this, Daniel was well aware. He could play the game too. He knew what to say and what to hold back—it was a long-held battle between him and his mother. Her, having a way of delicately working information from him, and Daniel knowing how to hold the right kinds of information back.

“Mother’s intuition. Now, let's eat you must be starving” she replied sarcastically and immediately began busying herself with serving dinner. That was the end of the conversation; she was not about to play his game, and he couldn’t blame her. He knew it was cruel to hold this back. He had just dropped by unannounced after having been gone for five years. Still, old habits were hard to break, and this time his truth had a price.

***

  
After dinner was long finished, Daniel and his mother retired to the worn chairs in front of the fire. Their chatting had become idle—his mother stopped her game of pushing for information in between long periods of benign talk. He mainly talked about his career, told the same embellished stories of traveling between kingdoms and playing for royal courts that he told to any man in a bar who would listen, in the hopes that they would pay for his dinner and bed him for the night. His mother was losing interest as the hour grew later, and she began falling asleep in her chair, her hands having stopped their repetitive back and forth from knitting about an hour ago. Daniel smiled to himself at his mother’s drowsy form, and walked over to her. He nudged her shoulder, and she roused with a quiet, "hmm?"

“I’m going to turn in for the night. I haven’t had a good night’s rest in a long while.” He bent over and gave her forehead a kiss before heading down the dim hallway to the spare bedroom. Before opening the door, he turned around to face his mother again. “Thank you, Mother,” he said, quietly, not giving her a moment to respond before he entered his old room. 

He looked upon the old bed, the weathered trunk sitting at the foot, long emptied and collecting dust. A tarnished mirror hung on one of the walls above a small basin. The room had not changed in the five years it had been vacant; his mother had not moved a single item or speck of dust it seemed. However, it was unfamiliar in its familiarity. As he readied himself for bed, he could not shake the feeling of dread, the desire to run, that he had been victim to for the past month. The pull to submit to his mother’s tenderness and restart his life in Morehead was also intoxicating, and he could feel the two desires wreaking havoc within him. He could get used to meals and idle chat by the fire every night. He could imagine a life of restarting his father’s bakery and making acquaintance with all the local people whose faces had faded into distant memory. He could do it. He could start over, forget the past, rewrite the future, search for happiness in familiar places. But…

Daniel reached down to his pack and pulled out a wooden box, carefully lifting the floral engraved lid and removed a worn piece of parchment. He carefully held it up to the candle by his bedside and began examining the black script that filled the page. He had memorized the words by now, but still turned to read it one more time.

_“Daniel,_  
_I do not even know where to begin. The gods have not granted me the gift of words like they have you. Still, I hope my futile attempt to write my feelings expresses even a fraction of what my heart actually contains…”_

Daniel paused, pushing back tears, trying not to stain the letter. He had read these words countless times but each new look still filled him with sorrow. He continued to read, still choking back tears, in fear of waking his mother. As he neared the end of the page, his heart made a familiar lurch, his stomach a familiar drop.

_“…I know the path we have chosen will not be easy. In fact, this decision is the most difficult I have ever made. But the brag of my heart is clear, and it calls out your name with every beat. And with this, I know what I must do. Meet me by the eastern gates tomorrow at nightfall._

_With all of me, to you,_

_Your Prince”_

Dan settled the hitch in his chest and gingerly placed the letter back in the box, placing it on his bedside table. He paused a moment, then blew out the candle. 

  
That night he slept better than he had for weeks, but he did not dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again for reading. Please reblog on tumblr if you can and send me a message if you want! I'm dying for feedback and validation lol. Thank you so much to @freckliedan, @freckliephil, @danielbear, and @thembophannie on tumblr for being my cheerleaders and critics. It really means a lot.


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